


What a Pair We Make

by SmoggyFogbottom



Series: Din Djarin Just Wants Friends [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Respectively, din djarin reaaally needs a friend, he and baby yoda are both sad boys, in between being murder boys and mischief boys, much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22546885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoggyFogbottom/pseuds/SmoggyFogbottom
Summary: This takes place after The Prisoner, but before The Reckoning. Din is beginning to come to terms with what the kid actually means to him.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Din Djarin Just Wants Friends [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614700
Comments: 6
Kudos: 174





	What a Pair We Make

Din quickly settled into new routines. Everything, even a simple supply run took twice as long these days. This time he opted to leave the child sealed inside his ship. He had recently outfitted certain compartments throughout the ship with locks. Which meant the first order of business after returning to the Crest _,_ was checking the bunk. Sure enough, the kid was there, looking up at him expectantly. He had wriggled his way out of the blankets and was holding a wooden trinket in his tiny little hands. A crude carving of Din’s own helmet gifted by one of the older Sorgan kids. 

“Beh!” The kid exclaimed, holding up the trinket. 

“Did you miss me?” He felt stupid for asking, but the kid just shook the trinket and babbled incoherently. With a sigh, he lowered the supply crate down in front of the bunk. Taking the kid may have started as a responsibility to right a wrong – a personal moral obligation – but it had rapidly changed into something else. He had been able to dismiss the truth of it right up until the mission with Ran and X’ian. Mayfeld inadvertently made him quantify the relationship when he had asked if the kid was a pet. Din had agreed with this sentiment using vague and non-committal words. Even bluffing, he couldn’t commit completely to the idea of calling this little womp-rat his pet. He didn’t uproot his entire way of life because of some _pet_. Nor was it an oversized sense of duty, no - a burden of responsibility could only push you so far. 

The kid perched at the end of the bunk and watched him as he began going through the haul. Enjoying the little one’s attention, and wanting to keep it, he held up a pack of rations for him to see. 

“Food for me.” He put it to the side and picked up a smaller pack, one that was protein based and according to the shop keep, full of nutrients for a growing child. “Food for you.” 

“Eck.” The pack floated out of his hand to the child’s outstretched arms. The kid began inspecting it in his own way. Usually meant sticking whatever he was holding into his mouth. 

Din picked up the rest of the rations and locked them in a nearby cabinet. He turned back to see the baby had already ignored the rations and moved on to a carton of ammo, somehow retrieving it from the bottom of the supply crate. 

“No!” He rushed over and gently pulled the ammo out of the kids grasp. “This is for me. It’s not safe for you yet. One day you’ll be old enough -” He was about to say, _for me to train you_ , but wasn’t the plan to find the thing a safe home once the Imp’s were taken care of? His life was not ideal for a baby. Without thinking he reached for the fading bruise the kid received after being dropped by Mayfeld. It took every ounce of self-control to not kill that piece of shit. But leaving behind a ship full of dead mercenaries was not an introduction he wanted to have with the New Republic. 

The little one winced at the touch. 

“Still hurts?” He asked gently. He opened one of the new medpacs and ripped into a bacta patch package. It took a bit of convincing, but he finally was able to fit it over the bruise. The child cooed and Din sat back on his haunches, watching the kid. 

He was approaching his fortieth year and the concept of taking on a family of his own was something he no longer considered. Helping the foundlings was good enough. The time to start a family had passed. But this child. This child who was older than him – Din wanted nothing but to protect him. To raise him to be strong. How could he convince the Tribe to take on a Foundling when it was one of the reasons for their uprooting? The two of them were responsible for forcing the covert to reveal themselves. He feared they would not understand his fast devotion – hell, he didn’t even understand it. 

The child dropped down from the bunk and waddled over to him, reaching up to touch the side of his leg. A feeling that wasn’t his began to form on the edge of his mind. The kid seemed to possess a unique way of communicating its feelings. Din, as with the child’s other unique ability, accepted this in stride. The feeling morphed into a state of devastating loneliness, enough to make him choke up underneath the helmet. Its ears perked up while it placed its small arms around his leg in an embrace. The feeling changed to timid hope. Against all odds, he felt a kinship with the little guy; he understood those feelings. It was unfortunate they shared this in common. Children didn’t deserve this. 

“Are you saying that’s who I am or that’s who you are?” 

_You. Me. Us._ The words weren’t said or thought, but a feeling his mind translated. 

Din sighed. He reached down and picked the child up, holding him in his lap. “We make quite the pair, don’t we?” 

“Beh.” The kid announced, lifting up the crude wooden carving of Din’s helmet. _Family._

His heart constricted. Regardless of the outcome for this little one, if circumstances separated them – even if it was beneficial for the child – Din wasn’t sure how he could return to the lonely life hunting offered. 


End file.
